


to the hilt.

by izzyasavestheday (stilessexual)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, description of panic attack, vague mentions of ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/izzyasavestheday
Summary: “Okay,” he finally replied, “Okay, yeah. I mean, it makes sense.”“What does?”“You being in love with Theo,” Mason said, casual as anything, like Liam’s heart didn’t still twist at the words. “I remember being a teenager and watching the two of you fight together – back to back, not a single move out of place. Or how you two fought for each other. Sometimes, I thought you guys could literally read each other’s mind. That was the only way to explain how in sync you were, you know?”(Liam thought of all the times he’d punched Theo when he’d really wanted to kiss him instead.)





	to the hilt.

**Author's Note:**

> this work is in progress + unbeta'd but! most of it is already outlined so hopefully updating will be consistent.

**THE** slam of Theo’s fist against Liam’s jaw was almost comforting in its familiarity.

It’s pathetic and fucking predictable because – of course, _of course_ Liam would find himself here, find himself in love with Theo, despite the way that it broke his bones. It was simple, really, that love – no matter how fucked, no matter how twisted – provided clarity like nothing else in existence. Time and time again, when everything fell apart around them, when the monsters came for their souls, when they (the good, the fucking righteous) did monstrous things – Liam could count on the violence lying just beneath Theo’s skin to right every wrong, to bring balance to the imbalance around them. Liam could count on the taste of Theo’s rage on the tip of his tongue to steady the turn of the Earth under his feet.   

“ _Fuck_ you,” Theo snarled viciously, spittle flying with the force of his words. “Fuck you, Dunbar.”

Liam spat blood onto the dirt and laughed ugly, ugly, ugly. “Oh?” he mocked, “Did I finally get under your fucking skin?”

Theo shook his head – back and forth, back and forth – eyes wide with something Liam had never seen before.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he spoke oddly, haltingly. Like the words were clawing their way up his throat. “I don’t – I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Nothing penetrated through the haze of the anger, not even the crack in Theo’s ever-so-carefully constructed façade.

“Do what, Theo? Act like a human being?”

Theo took quick, frantic steps forward until he was pressed too close, eyes crazed, breath warm against the cooling blood on Liam’s lips. “I. am. not. human.”

Liam shoved Theo back with all of his might, reveled in the crash of his body into a tree, the heave of his chest, the sweat on his brow, the ugly curl of his lip. The Moon watched over them, a silent judge.

“Then don’t,” Liam’s throat ached something awful, hurt something new, something he’d never hurt before. Not with Hayden. Not with Brett. Not with Scott. Not with anyone else, ever before. “Don’t be human. Don’t do this anymore. Fucking leave. I have enough to worry about without having to stop you from killing someone every time you get bored.”

A moment, a moment of wide-eyed silence. A moment of heaving chests, clenched fists, bloody crescents cut into the skin of their palms. A breaking, it was a breaking. If Liam strained hard enough, he could almost hear it, in the sorrow of the trees around them – _take it back,_ they said to him, _eat your words._ But it was over. It wasn’t the worst fight they’d had, not by a mile, but it was suddenly over.

Theo laughed breathlessly and slumped further down the tree. Almost like he couldn’t bear the weight of his own body anymore. “Is that what you want?”

If he’d had a moment, a single moment to sieve through the rage, to take in the torn-open look in Theo’s eyes, Liam would choke on his words before ever letting them find relief in the air between them. But, things happen.

People leave.

“Yeah,” stop, stop, _stop._ “I never –I _never_ want to see you again. I am so fucking sick of you.”  

“Okay,” Theo pulled his lips in something like a smile, just sadder, so much sadder. There was something like regret in the slant of his mouth, the healing cracks on his knuckles. “Okay, Liam.”

He pushed himself to his feet and brushed dirt off of his jeans.

“Okay,” Theo said again, and just like that, like it was nothing, turned to leave – turned to go, turned to walk away, leave, leave, leave, shit, _shit_ —

“Wait,” Liam croaked, the panic settling in, nestling itself into the space between his ribs. “Wait, wait. Theo, Jesus, I’m—”

But Liam couldn’t force the apology past his numb lips and Theo just kept walking away.  

He was going,

going,                       going,                       _going_ ,                       going,                       going—

 

†††

 

**FIFTEEN** **YEARS** **LATER**

 

**“COME** on, come on, come on.” Liam muttered frantically under his breath as he navigated through the quickly disintegrating house. He could hear the faraway, frantic yelling of his crew mates telling him to get out before the whole structure came crashing down on him. “Where are you? Come on. Parker! **Parker!** ”

He stupidly swiped off his helmet, but the kid’s sobs suddenly reached him crystal clear over the roaring of the flames and he ran, ran, crashing through furniture, never so grateful for his healing like he was that moment. He found Parker huddled in a corner, arms caged over his head, sobbing. Liam skipped the pleasantries – they were out of time fifteen seconds ago – smashed his helmet back on his head and scooped the terrified child into his arms.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re almost out.” Liam said to the kid over and over like a mantra, but the stairs were fucked, and the ladder they’d pressed to the side of the house was nowhere near him anymore. Adrenaline surged through him – heart pounding loud, loud in his ears, louder than the rushing of the flames, he could feel his blood burning just under his skin, the way his muscles expanded, accommodating. He maneuvered the kid into one arm, unzipped his jacket to curl around his shaking frame – mindless and mindful – Scott’s gonna kick his ass, oh my god.

“This is gonna suck,” he peeked down at the kid, all wild red curls and terrified brown eyes. “But I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, got it?”

Parker nodded bravely, though his lower lip trembled. Liam took one deep, cleansing breath and rushed full speed towards the nearest open window. For a moment, for a single moment, there was nothing, just weightlessness, just the cleanse of clean air around him, rinsing his lungs of the soot that had gathered there, cleansing, cleansing–

Until the hard ground rushed up to greet him. He couldn’t land on his feet – though he’d fallen from higher heights before – not in front of so many humans. He did his best to take the brunt of the impact, angled his body left shoulder first, tucked in his chin, kid protected and snug against his chest, _this is gonna hurt,_ he thought briefly, _this is gonna–_

“Mother _fuck_ ,” Liam wheezed when the ground made contact with his shoulder, his shoulder blades, his ribs, everything, everything burned. “Fuck, check on the kid. The kid, fucking hell.”

Renée, one of the EMTs and another wolf – pack; family – unwrapped his heavy jacket and all but collapsed with relief.

“Oh my god,” she pressed her hands to her eyes for a quick moment before she jumped back into action, “Hey buddy. You okay? C’mere let me look you over. Liam Dunbar – you motherfucker – you lucky, stupid motherfucker.”  

“Stop cussin’ ‘round the kid,” he laughed wetly, probably around a broken rib, his goddamn luck. “Get Josh.”

Josh was another member of their pack and crew mate. They knew they needed to be quick, faster than their human crew members rushing towards them, because Liam had dived out of a two-story house and was healing too quickly around his broken and dislocated bones.

“I’m _so_ telling Scott,” Josh whispered. He tightened an unnecessary neck brace around Liam’s neck. “If Stiles doesn’t ream your heroic ass first.”

Liam rolled his eyes, hissing against the pop of his shoulder back into its socket. “Just get me in the box before–”

“Oh my god,” the mother, Parker’s mom, rushed forward tearful and shaking. Parker seemed fine, peaking up at Liam from his mother’s arms, and that’s all that mattered. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you. You saved his life, thank you.” 

“Ma’am,” Josh navigated around her, all but dumped Liam onto the stretcher. “We gotta get him to the hospital, I’m sure you understand, excuse me.”

“Of course, oh my god.” She swiped at soot on her face, “of course, thank you! Thank you so much.”

“Yup, not a problem.” Liam squeezed his eyes shut when Josh slid him too quickly into the back of the box and slammed the door shut behind them. “Fuck you, dude, that squishy sound? That was my rib jabbing into my lung.”

Renée barely let Josh sit down before she sped away from the still burning house, “Dunbar, if you hadn’t jumped out of a two-story house maybe you wouldn’t be complaining about a punctured lung–”

They bickered playfully on the way to the hospital. There, Melissa would give Liam the lecture of his life before reluctantly signing off to allow him back to work in a few days. It was routine, almost mundane, for the number of times they’d done something like this. It was fine, it was all fine, Liam was even sitting up and rolling his neck experimentally until he heard a sound he hadn’t heard in years.

“Is that,” Renée pulled to the side of the road with a rough lurch, wide eyes staring at him in the rearview mirror. “Liam, I’ve never heard it before, but is that – _shit_ , is that Lydia?”

Liam frantically made his way out of the ambulance, shedding his jacket and heavy boots in the process. He’d have to run through the woods and he couldn’t do that with all the added weight.

“Go to the hospital and tell Melissa I had to go to Lydia,” he said, “Tell her Lydia wailed. If the Chief asks–”

“Yeah,” Josh nodded frantically, “Yeah, ‘course, go, _go_.”

Liam ran, ran, ran.

Lydia’s banshee wail filled every atom of his being with an all-consuming dread; he felt cold, despite the pump of his fatigued muscles, as he ran through the dense woods. Liam ran erratically, crashing into branches and tripping over roots, until he reached the small cottage Lydia and Stiles shared deep in the Hale property. He stumbled to a messy halt in their front yard, stunned, the sight in front of him lodged itself icy and aching in his throat.

She was wearing her favorite summer dress, eyelet white, barefoot because today was her first day off in weeks. They all knew that Lydia lived for too-hot California days – especially the days she and Stiles could spend on their front porch, drinking homemade lemonade. She swayed back and forth, long hair a curtain nearly obscuring her face. There was sweat beaded at her brow, despite the shaking in her hands, the worrying blue of her lips.  

Liam approached her slowly, “Hey Lyds,”

“She’s dead, she’s dead.” she sang quietly. She dug her fingers into her hair and clutched at her skull, almost as if she could hear something he couldn’t. Lydia groaned lowly, pained, and curled up on herself, “The banshee’s dead, but the child survives. She’s cradled in Death’s arms.”

There wasn’t much for him to do but stay with her until the worst of it passed, but his hands opened and closed helplessly, desperate in a way he no longer recognized. Peace made them weak, he thought. It made them docile. “I’m right here, Lydia.”  

“She’s can’t know,” she sang-whispered, “because if she knows then she’s dead, and she knows. She knows. The banshee knows.” Then her breath began heaving out of her fast, faster, faster still. She snapped up to look at him, a sudden sharp clarity to her hazy eyes, the way she shoved her hair out of her face. “Liam. _Liam_.”

His hands twitched by sides, “Can –can I do anything?”

“Move.”

He ducked, not a moment too soon, and barely missed the force of her scream, the sheer power of it. It was as if the last few years of relative peace had been bottled up inside of her and found relief in that single moment. Lydia screamed so loudly and for so long that the trees shook in sympathy for her, animals scurried away, birds tore out of the trees to safety.

(It’s strange. To remember that Lydia – kind, hard, smarter than them all – was also the literal, actual, here-on-Earth Harbinger of Death. There was no worldly explanation for her connection to Death. There was no way to explain the grief in her wailing, how she knew of the horror to come.)

“Oh my god,” Liam whispered. He rushed towards her when she collapsed in a heap, shoulders heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. He was helpless and so out of his depths because she was suddenly sobbing, crying like he’d never seen, sobs racking through her like they’d already lost.

“Lydia,” Liam gathered her into his arms, her skin was ice-cold-burning to the touch. “Lydia, Lydia.”

She startled, shockingly quiet, stark tear tracks lining her ashen face. Lydia looked at him like it was the first time she noticed his presence.

“It’s okay,” he said, stupid. He’s an idiot. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be–”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s Theo.”

–and then she fainted, gone, just as an obnoxiously large government SUV tore through the pristine lawn. Stiles scrambled out of the SUV and hurtled over the flowerbed. 

“Talk to me, Dunbar!”

“She’s okay,” Liam said, voice shaky. He smoothed her hair away from her face, ignored his trembling hands. Stiles settled in on her other side, his own flighty hands checking Lydia for injuries they knew she wouldn’t have. They just had to wait. Wait. Wait. “Heartbeat’s strong. She’s okay.”

“Fuck,” Stiles slumped under the weight of his relief, “I thought I imagined it. I thought I was being paranoid.”

In the wake of Lydia’s grief, the woods around them were unnaturally silent. The sky was too blue. The sun was too bright. Liam struggled to speak for a long, long moment.

Stiles noticed, “What? What is it? Spit it out, oh my god.”

“She said Theo’s name,” he croaked. The name burned sweet on Liam’s tongue. He hadn’t said it out loud in years. “Before she fainted. Theo’s been in North Carolina for years, Stiles, I think she meant the pack–”

“Shit,” Stiles exhaled, he dragged Lydia to his chest and held her tight, tight, too tightly. “ _Shit._ I’ll call them. I’ll tell them, but, just. I just have to.”

Stiles held Lydia like he’d lost and mourned her, hands in her hair, lips pressed to her temple over and over and over, so intimate, Liam felt shy and shitty bearing witness to it.  

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered into Lydia’s hair, “It’s okay.”

†††

**LIAM** dreamed of Theo.

Not all the time.

Not always, not even often, but over the years, well–

Every time he felt like his mind and body were finally giving him the room to forget, to move on, Theo came to him in a dream. Rising out of the ground, out of the depths of Hell, absolution heaving his chest, dirt falling off of him like sin. He dreamed of Theo renewed but always an everlastingly heartbreaking eighteen. Liam dreamed of Theo, yes, but never quite as often – never in the vivid technicolor that brought every single strand of hair into focus – as he did in the days they waited. They waited with bated breaths for the fallout of Lydia’s Sight. It was an infinity where nothing happened, nothing happened, nothing happened, nothing–

A week. They had a week’s reprieve.

Liam drove to the McCall’s for the monthly pack-night, fingers drumming mindlessly along to the beat of the song on the radio. Mason chattered in the passenger seat about the latest trauma research that he’d read. Corey asked him the occasional question from the backseat: What was the sample size? How many times did they run the experiment? Did the scholars consider so-and-so’s research? 

(Once upon a time, Mason and Corey left. The hurts hurt too badly, the losses happened too often for anything to fucking matter. It was the worst kind of breaking – Liam’s darkest months happened after Mason left – but when they came home, they came back with healed hearts and a renewed vigor to help every lost soul that got caught up in the supernatural world. Everyone needed therapy, they’d said, especially werewolves.)

There was something particularly disconcerting about the air that day.

Liam had long ago learned to trust the electricity that sometimes simmered on his skin ( _Kira_ ) as a warning – _get ready_ , she said, _something’s coming_. He parked his car in the crowded driveway and trailed behind his friends. He listened distantly as they argued the ethics of double-blind experiments.

“Hey kid,” Malia maneuvered him around her round belly. She took a giant, obnoxious whiff at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, frowned. “You reek of angst. Why are you being emo?”

He laughed into her hair. She was so annoying – he loved her _so_ much. They put on faces of serenity for one another. There was nothing to worry about yet. “The Chief still won’t let me come back to work even though Melissa gave me the all clear days ago.”

She snorted unkindly, “Serves you right for doing a jump like that in front of a bunch of humans.”

“Okay, but listen, did anybody die? No. In fact, the kid’s mom made me thank-you cookies. When was the last time you got thank-you cookies, Malia?”

They poked fun at each other until Malia shoved him into the bushes with a victorious cackle, protruding belly making it all the more hilarious. Pack nights were common – children screaming, Scott’s crinkled smile, the warmth in Liam’s chest at his family’s proximity – but there was a certain desperation in their embraces that day. There were pack members from all across California milling about – laughing, hugging a little too tightly, pressing their ears to Malia’s belly – and Liam couldn’t help the fleeting thought that this was so epically stupid. So, so stupid. They were such an easy target like this. They’d be so easy to pick off.  

“Hey, where’s Stiles?”

Lydia smiled up at Liam from beneath her lashes, small and knowing. “Stuck at work.”

“Everything okay?” he asked, but his heart was in his throat.

“You’re getting premature wrinkles,” she deflected. There was nothing to worry about. Yet. Yet. Yet. She flicked her finger against the furrow in his brow. “Have you given getting fillers another thought?”

“I’m thirty-two _and_ a werewolf, Lydia. The healing factor alone–”

They easily fell back into a well-worn argument of theirs, Liam let it go for the moment, because whatever it was – whatever the hell was the reason Lydia kept staring off into space, haunted – they’d all know soon enough. The late afternoon turned to evening turned to night. The hours passed, and Stiles still didn’t show up. At that point, most of the pack members had left, Renée and her wife the last to drag their sleepy toddlers away. It was only them – Scott, Malia, Lydia, Mason, and Corey. Even Jordan and the parents had begged off and went home.

The wolves tensed at the sound of car pulling into the driveway.

Lydia asked, “Is it Stiles?”

Liam cocked his head, heard the familiar too-fast heartbeat.

“Yeah,” _get ready,_ “yeah, it’s him.”

(Scott would always cock his head at the electric-wind when it came, small smile on his lips, knowing and grateful. See, they all carried their heartaches differently – Scott held Kira like a phantom limb for the world to see while Liam buried Theo deep in his ribs like he was still ashamed of whatever the fuck it was they shared.)

(He wasn’t. he wasn’t.)  

Stiles staggered in with a would-be smile for their sakes. He pressed a hard kiss to Lydia’s temple and settled down beside her. They were all tense, waiting, because they knew this was the news they’d been waiting for all week. Liam suppressed a shiver as Kira’s whispered warnings intensified on the air around them.

“What’s up, buddy?” Scott asked quietly. He handed Stiles a cold beer and a sandwich. Stiles – who lived for food – didn’t spare the sandwich a single glance. They watched as he chugged down most of the beer before he buried his face into his hands. Lydia silently dug her fingers into the hair at the nap of his neck. A small comfort against the tension that lined his shoulders. Stiles reflexively sent a tired smile her way. Then, he rolled his shoulders back, inhaled deeply, and said: “The North Carolina pack was attacked this afternoon.”

Lydia’s hand slumped back into her lap – shock. Shocked.

“I already sent some of my guys down there,” Stiles struggled to go on, but no sound came out of his mouth for an eternal moment. Stiles was speechless.  “Hart’s a good Alpha – if anyone can handle this, it’s her. I mean, they’re a solid, established pack but they – even with the warning we gave them – the attackers were coordinated. Almost like they had an insider’s knowledge of the pack – not almost. They absolutely did. There was only so much they could have done.” he swallowed with an audible click, “They lost people. Good people.”  

Lydia whispered, “Breathe, Stiles.”

Stiles took a deep, rattling breath. “From what they’d been able to gather, it seems like they were attacked by a fringe, human organization that attempted to make it look like the attack was carried out by a feuding wolf pack. It would’ve worked if we hadn’t warned them. If they weren’t waiting for it.” Stiles swiped a hand across his mouth, “According to the little information they’ve been able to pass along, the group purposely aimed for the kids.”

No one spoke.

No one breathed.

Malia leaned heavily into Scott’s side; she wrapped her arms protectively around her belly.    

“Jesus Christ,” Mason finally broke the silence, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Stiles settled against Lydia’s shoulder, spent. He looked old, Liam thought briefly, over the panic that had wrapped itself around his lungs from the moment Stiles staggered in. _They lost people._ Over the roaring in his ears –

Stiles looked old.

_They lost people._

Stiles looked old.

Stiles should never look old.

“Okay,” Scott worked his jaw momentarily, thinking, and effortlessly fell into his role. “Okay. Corey and Mason, do you think you guys can go out there? I know you guys are working on a project right now, but–”

“This is more important,” Corey answered. Mason nodded along in agreement. “We’ll hand everything off in the morning. We can be out there this time tomorrow. Do you want me to let them know we’re coming?”

_They lost people._

“I’ll let Alpha Hart know,” Stiles said quietly, “Liaison and all.”   

“Good,” Scott pressed a mindless kiss to Malia’s temple, “Thanks, guys. Maybe we can get Derek out there too? He’s good to have in situations like this.”

“Yeah,” Malia was already tapping away at her phone, “He was in New York last we spoke, so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to make it down to North Carolina. Stiles, are you following your team?”

“Yeah, I’ll hand off the security details to Jordan–”

Liam couldn’t focus anymore, not above the roaring, roaring, roaring – all Liam could hear was roaring in his ears, his blood rushing through him, the pounding of his own heart overwhelming all of his senses.

_They lost people. Good people._

“Liam,” someone said, “ _Liam._ ”

There was an insistent tap on his cheek, Liam focused on Stiles’ tired face.

“They don’t know, yet.” he said firmly. “It’s too chaotic. It’s so fucked up buddy but they have no idea how many people they lost yet. Yes – _yes_ , Liam – they lost folks, but I promise you. I _swear_ to you, Raeken is alive.”

Liam couldn’t really feel his lips when he croaked in reply, “But she said his name.”

“Oh,” came Lydia’s soft voice, “Oh, honey, no.”

Stiles shook his head, but he was fading again. “You know that’s not how it works. It’s not – come on, man, it’s not an exact science. He was Lydia’s connection to the pack.”   

“She said his name,” Liam gasped around the panic in his throat, his clawed hands flapped uselessly around his clogged airway – should he claw out his throat? Would he be able to breathe then? “He’s been there for years.”

Scott appeared. His eyes burned bright, Alpha red.

“Breathe.”

Relief washed over him like rainwater.

“Fuck,” Liam rubbed his eyes, grateful that he hadn’t spiraled. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’ve been screwed up waiting all week, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Scott said quietly. “No reason to be.”

(He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed, not really. The years – the hurt, the aching, the guts they’d pressed back into each other’s bellies – had turned their pack into a tight-knit family, more than a family. They’d seen each other at their best and worst, _worst_. There were no words for the bonds that tied them to one another, not anymore. Liam shuddering through the beginning of a well-deserved panic attack was nothing compared to the blood and gore they’d trudged through to get here.)

“We’re talking about Theo Raeken, right?” Malia said, “Just so that we’re all on the same page here.”

Liam dropped his forehead to Scott’s shoulder. He may not be embarrassed but he was surprised by the intensity of his reaction – it had been so long. “Yeah.”

He looked up – there was no judgment on their faces, just curiosity.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on him. I couldn’t help myself – just tracking where he is. Not like – not in a creepy way. I just wanted to make sure he was alive, ’s all.”

Scott nodded like he’d already known – it was ScottStilesLydia, of course he’d known – and squeezed Liam’s shoulders reassuringly. “Whatever happened, we’ll know about it soon enough, okay?”

“Yeah,” Liam settled in back between his packmates. Mason slipped his hand into Liam’s and Malia pressed her face into his neck. They gathered in close. They held each other tightly while loss knocked at their door. “Yeah.”

(The world was ending.)

†††

 

From: [mstilinski@fbi.gov](mailto:mstilinski@fbi.gov)  
To: [liam_d@gmail.com](mailto:liam_d@gmail.com)

 

raeken is alive!!!! alpha says he was away day of incident & has been in contact since to check in.

 

Sent from my iPhone

 

From: [liam_d@gmail.com](mailto:liam_d@gmail.com)

To: [mstilinski@fbi.gov](mailto:sstilinski@fbi.gov)

 

Got it.   
Thanks for checking in, dude. It means a lot.

 

From: [mstilinski@fbi.gov](mailto:sstilinski@fbi.gov)  
To: [liam_d@gmail.com](mailto:liam_d@gmail.com)

 

shut the fuck up Dunbar.

 

Sent from my iPhone

 

From: [liam_d@gmail.com](mailto:liam_d@gmail.com)

To: [mstilinski@fbi.gov](mailto:sstilinski@fbi.gov)

 

Roger that.  

 

†††

 

**PAST**

 

**“LIAM** , Liam.” Lydia said his name ever so carefully. There was a look in her eyes that he’d seen too many times before – seen in the asylum, seen in the face of Death herself. But he’d never put it there before, he’d never been the cause of it. He was her friend, wasn’t he her friend? What had he done? Why was Lydia scared of him? _What had he done?_  “You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

He just wanted everything to stop.

Liam wanted it to stop. He wanted no sound, no breath, not even his own. He wanted the panic thrumming through him to settle into something that allowed him to think. Why was this happening? Why wouldn’t it stop? He hurt so much, so, so much. Why wouldn’t she stop fucking talking?

Liam growled low in his throat in warning – enough.

“Comforting,” Lydia laughed, but it wasn’t funny, she didn’t sound like she found it funny at all. “Very comforting. What color are the walls?”

Why could he smell blood? What had he done?

“Liam, what color are the walls?”

“White,” he spat, finally. The effort it took to bring the walls into focus was herculean, it was overwhelming. Something, some of the panic in his chest gave way, and Lydia came into a sharper focus. Beautiful Lydia with her fire hair, tear-stained faced smiling shakily at him.

“Good,” she said softly. Lydia’s voice no longer grated on the inside of his skull. “Good, that’s good. What do you hear just outside?”

He tilted his head just so, trying, trying, trying.

“The lawn. Someone’s mowing their lawn.” he groaned, realizing – too late, too late, too late, always too fucking late for it to mean jack fucking shit – that she was slowly pulling him out of a panic attack that had destroyed her bedroom. There was fist sized hole in the wall, the bed frame was tilted beside him, downy feathers floating around them, like a fucking parody of snow against the white, white backdrop of the walls—

“Good,” she repeated, coming closer, trusting him. “You’re doing so well, Liam. What does my perfume smell like?”

He spoke through the frustrated sob that escaped his throat, “Like flowers,”

“One more time, honey. What color are the walls?”

He inhaled as deeply as his tight ribs would allow, “White.”

“What noise do you hear outside?”

He exhaled and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. “Your neighbors mowing the lawn.”

“And my perfume?”

“Flowers,” He slumped in on himself, exhausted beyond explanation, and crumbled at the foot of her ruined bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He always came back to himself painfully. Came back to the claws digging into his palms, his fangs tearing into the soft inside of his mouth – the blood pooled in his hands and on his lips overwhelmed his senses until it was all he smelled. He knew why this happened, Liam knew that the Theo-shaped hole in his chest had grown and grown and grown until there was nothing left of him but the parts that missed Theo.

“Did I hurt you?” he watched her big, sad eyes watching him. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you. I’m so stupid – I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Liam.”

“Your room—”

“Forget my room,” she snapped, too hard, too soft. She knew, Liam realized, she’d probably known before he had. “Talk to me. Talk to me, Liam.”

“Nothing,” he whispered, despite his shaking hands. “It’s nothing.”

“Your blood is on my Louboutin’s, darling.”

He opened his aching palms, watched impassively as his healing kicked in, the way the dried blood cracked away when he opened and closed his hands. Opened and closed. Opened and closed. “You don’t wanna hear this, Lydia. I don’t even wanna hear this.”

“Because it’s about Theo?” she asked, he started at her words. She tilted her head, odd little expression on her face – sad, angry, sad, sad, sad. “Do you think there is anything, anything in the world, you could say to me that will make me turn my back on you?”

The tears fell in earnest; Liam had never been so grateful for another person in his entire life.

“I ran ‘em off, Lydia” his voice broke, broke something awful and raw and hurt, still, still. “It was a stupid fight – it was such a stupid fuckin’ fight. But I pushed too far and I ran him off. And now he’s – it’s been weeks. He’s gone. For good.”

Lydia settled on the floor beside him, “Theo was always going to leave.”

“No, no, he wasn’t. You can’t say that.” Liam could barely speak over the sobs the racked through him. Over Theo fucking Raeken of all the people in the world. Theo Raeken. If the smug bastard could see Liam now. “You can’t, Lydia. If I’d just shut up, if I’d kept my mouth—”

“Liam,” Lydia held on to his hands, anchored him to something solid, something real. “Sweetheart, listen to me. Theo is broken. He is so broken, and no matter how much we want it to, no matter how much we think it will, love can’t fix that kind of broken.”

“I didn’t love him,” Liam denied weakly. The lie hurt making its way past his lips. “I don’t.”

Lydia pressed her lips together – that ancient, familiar smile on her lips, sad but not sad. She was the closest thing to looking Death in the eye and surviving it. Lydia was so much bigger than any of them, she was colossal. Sometimes, he felt like she could see his insides from just looking at him. Liam dislodged his hands from hers and swiped them roughly over his face. He couldn’t stop crying but his voice was firmer, the lie came easier when he wasn’t looking her in the eyes: “I didn’t love him.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, “Okay, darling. But just, listen to me, okay? I’ve known people like Theo. _I’ve_ loved people like Theo. Deeply. Unconditionally. I’d have given my life for that love.”

Her eyes were suddenly far, far away.

“The things he’s done?” She whispered it like a secret between them, like Liam didn’t intimately know of the rot in Theo’s gut, like it didn’t still stain his own hands bloody. “Liam, the things that have been done to Theo? He stank of Death.” She gestured to her chest vaguely, “I could see it around his ribs, sometimes. He was always going to leave – he had to. Do you get it? For the first time in so long, he’s free. You can’t fault him that. He has to come face to face with everything he’s done, and everything that’s been done to him.”

“And he couldn’t do that here?” He asked brokenly, his hands flopped back onto his lap, useless and empty, alwaysalwaysalways so empty. “He couldn’t do that with me?”

“Oh sweetheart, come here.” Lydia pulled him into her arms. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, the sweet floral scent of her was tinged with something deeper – almost a rot, like dying roses. She stank of Death too, Liam thought. “You’re going to be fine. I swear, I swear, you’re going to be fine. You just have to give it time.” 

She rocked him slowly, silent now in the face of his grief because he was gone.

“I’m never gonna see him again. I’m never–”

Theo was gone.

Theo—

 

†††

 

**PRESENT**

 

**MASON’S** pixilated face stared back at him – judgmental as shit.

“So.”

“…So?”

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“He said talk about what,” Mason mocked, “You know damn well what we’re talking about.”

“Your goatee?” Liam replied smartly, “Corey told me not to bring it up.”

“Dude,” Mason said, aghast. His hand automatically went to his chin defensively. “Fuck you, no, I’m talking about Theo – you know I’m talking about Theo. I can’t believe you went to Stiles about this and not me. _Stiles_.”

Liam opened his mouth to reply but Mason went on, “I literally can’t wrap my mind around the fact that you stalked Theo – Theo Raeken! – for over a decade – a decade! – and didn’t tell me. That’s, like, a secret of astronomic proportions.”

Liam wanted to laugh. He wanted to find a reply that would keep the conversation easy, but he couldn’t. Hundreds of miles away and through their shitty connection, Liam could see the hurt in Mason’s eyes.

“Mason, I don’t know how to talk about this.”

He cut him off firmly, “It’s me, Liam. Cut the shit.”  

Liam scoffed softly, his chest burned with the memories playing in his mind’s eye.

“Come on, I don’t even need to talk about it. It’s the same sad story. You know that I cared about him. You know that he left.”

It didn’t take long to click, not for Mason, a part of him probably always knew, always suspected–

“Oh,” he said, “Jesus, Liam. You were in love with him. Shit, of course you were.”

Liam laughed wetly, “Sure. Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Was?”

Liam chose his next words carefully, “Fifteen years is a long time to love a ghost, Mason. We haven’t spoken a word to each other since he left Beacon Hills.”

Mason’s brow was furrowed in confusion, “But you asked Stiles–”

“Yeah, I just felt,” Liam shifted through it all for a moment, “I just felt like I owed it to him. To make sure he was okay. That he wasn’t on his own. I told Stiles because – he could find him, you know? Stiles had the resources. I knew where Theo was. I made sure he knew where I was, just, just in case, you know? But that was it. I never spoke to him or to anyone else about it. Not even Lydia.”

Mason’s voice was gentle, “That was it, huh?”  

“Yup,” he popped the _p_ , loud and obnoxious against the embarrassment warming his cheeks. “That was it.”

Mason stared at him in silence for a long, long while.

“Okay,” he finally replied, “Okay, yeah. I mean, it makes sense.”

“What does?”

“You being in love with Theo,” Mason said, casual as anything, like Liam’s heart didn’t still twist at the words. “I remember being a teenager and watching the two of you fight together – back to back, not a single move out of place. Or how you two fought _for_ each other. Sometimes, I thought you guys could literally read each other’s mind. That was the only way to explain how in sync you were, you know?”

(Liam thought of all the times he’d punched Theo when he’d really wanted to kiss him instead.)

“We also beat the shit out of each other every chance we got, Mase.”

“Oh yeah no, I’m not discounting that.” Mason replied thoughtfully, “You two were fucked up. Like, majorly, majorly fucked up.”

Liam snorted, “Is that your professional opinion, Doc?”

Mason went on like he didn’t hear him, “Theo more so, obviously. The dude had seen and done some shit. But, I mean, your circumstances during that time weren’t exactly conducive of emotionally intelligent communication, you know? You were teenagers who’d experienced insurmountable trauma and that’s not even beginning to touch on the radical physical transformations that you both experienced. Retrospectively, I think you two did the best you could. Wasn’t always right or healthy – but you survived.”

“I still regret so much,” Liam whispered shamefully, “of what I did. How I treated him. I’d give anything to go back and do it over.”

Mason cut him off gently, “You can’t think like that. There’s literally no point in thinking like that because you can’t go back. No, don’t look at me like that just listen. Listen to me, are you listening?”

“I hear you,” Liam replied quietly.

“I don’t know how much this’ll help but the people here? Theo’s pack? They love him. I mean, the way they talk about him – I don’t know the person they’re talking about. The man they talk about is kind. He’s selfless. He puts others before himself. They’d give their lives for this man.”

Liam’s chest burned something awfully bright, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mason said, “Yeah, man. So just, listen to me, okay? You guys overcame. You overcame your trauma and all the shit we were too young to experience and are somehow all the more resilient for it. That shit matters. You know I have to believe that that matters.”

“Fuck,” Liam exhaled, “I’m sorry for not telling you about this years ago.”

Mason smiled kindly, “It’s okay. I know it wasn’t easy carrying this around.”

Liam laughed softly, “Anyways, topic change before I combust. Do you know where he is now? Stiles said he wasn't at the site of the attack.”

Mason’s had the worst poker face in the history of the universe, “No. No, I do not.”

“Mason? Dude, your face is a mess.”

“Listen, don’t push me on this.” Mason pleaded, “Because if you push, I’ll tell, you know I will. But it’s not my thing to share, so don’t push. But you’ll know really soon, so there’s literally no reason to push.”

“But–”

“Nope!” Mason snapped, “There is something you should know, though.”

Liam waited.

“Yes?”

Mason’s mouth pulled down, expressive eyes suddenly all big and sad.

“Theo lost someone important in the attack.” Mason shook his head sadly, “I can’t imagine the grief he’s going through right now. Or the guilt.”

Liam began to reply when he heard a sound just outside his house – creeping, quiet, ever so soft – and his whole body stopped, primal, waiting. Wolf.

“Hey buddy,” Liam said quietly, as casually as he could muster. “I know it’s a bad time but let me call you back?”

“Is everything okay?” Mason immediately picked up on whatever it was that was happening to Liam’s face. “Liam, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he lied. The sound grew closer. He felt his face change into his monster and shifted his phone away before Mason could see it. “I just forgot – I just have something to do, okay? Call you later.”

“Liam, don’t—”

_Click._

Liam crept towards his front door on the balls of his feet, careful, careful, careful, despite the heavy pull of adrenaline in his veins. Lingering, haunting, he briefly thought of the fact that one of the strongest packs in the United States had been attacked in broad daylight. Before he could think too hard about the consequences of his actions, Liam wrenched the door open.

It stopped.

It stopped.

The Earth stopped moving. The sky was falling. The oceans were still. Everything stopped, stopped, his heart stopped— 

“Theo?”

The man in question smirked – that slow, slow, simmering smirk that still haunted the best and worst of Liam’s dreams – and shifted the sleeping child in his arms.

“Miss me, Dunbar?”

(The world stopped ending.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think so far :')


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